They were sent from the gates, two tons plus two hundred pounds of sweat, spit, snorts, grunts and spirit. If two tons of bull couldn’t put two hundred pounds of cowboy on the ground, nothing could. Where does a cowboy learn to romance a bull? Does it start the day he is born and held in the arms of the first cowgirl he falls in love with? Or does it start when two hundred pounds of raw, bowlegged flesh meets two tons of unrelenting bucking, kicking terror.
He peers through the gate; below his groin waits a trembling mass of muscle. If he could romance the bull with a gentle but firm grip he would win the purse. Gently now, squeeze just a little to start the courtship, then harder to heat it up. Even his best girl couldn’t beat this type of seduction. A snort and then a kick to let him know the bull is still waiting.
Sent from the gates they fly into the courtship. One over the other they romance the arena in a whirl of perfect union and frustration. Who will succumb to the pressure, which will give in to the other? Time is all it takes to make a perfect romance.
The cowgirl who is told she can romance the cowboy better than the bull wasn’t given her lesson at the gate. She wasn’t taught that it all starts there. Romance-em before leaving the gate, her mama told her. But she can’t compete with the bull. Today she will be second best.
Twisting high into the sky with mud and rocks hitting him in the face; it is pure romance the way the bull flies with such grace, only to hit the ground and fly again. They dance in front of the crowds until breathless from their own pleasure. Who will give in first? A cowboy never gives in; a cowboy never gives up a perfect romance.
This bull is no fool. If romance is what the cowboy wants then why not give it to him. The cowgirl with braided hair as black as night and purple eyes was no match for him. Bursting into the air with a force of ten he bucked harder than ever, wondering where the cowboy would land. Where would this end?
He stood at the far side of the arena with steam shooting from his nostrils. There in front of the gates he deposited the extra two hundred pounds from his back.; to the purple-eyed cowgirl who held him between her breasts as if she owned what he had created. His creation would be left to the heart of that cowgirl. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do?
The stretcher was soft and the cowgirl’s bosom was warm, unlike the spine of the bull now standing across the dirt with eyes that searched his soul. “Until we meet again” their minds whispered across the distance.
They were sent from the gates, dressed in white with looks of envy. The cowboy won the battle with the bull. Don’t you know that time was on his side that day? He smiled through the pain as the next cowboy in line peered through the gates with two tons of romance quivering between his legs. He was envious; their romance had just begun.
In this collection of Western fiction, I’ve endeavored to bring the reader a little laughter at the expense of my characters, even though they are at times engaged in life threatening adventures. Learn to say something nice to all of your enemies l
Story inspired by life of the author's great grandfather, a Black Cowboy who kidnapped his Native American bride after a cattle drive from Waco, TX to Dodge City, KS. Their story, him a master horseman and her a trained to be a healer with herbs and
